


The Volatility of Placid Surfaces

by scarlettgirl



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-28
Updated: 2011-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettgirl/pseuds/scarlettgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of Yvonne Hartman.  Pre-Army of Ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Volatility of Placid Surfaces

**8:15 a.m.**

At precisely 8:15 a.m. Yvonne Hartman dumped the dregs of her tea into the sink and left the mug on the counter for Cathalina to wash up. The daily would arrive at nine a.m. by which time the sleek black car would have already whisked Yvonne to Canary Wharf. Cathalina was just one of several people in Yvonne’s life whose sole purpose was to make sure they were never noticed. Rehma, the last daily the agency had provided, had made the unfortunate error of rearranging the neat row of butter-soft leather Italian pumps in Yvonne’s wardrobe. “Surface clean,” she had told the agency representative when setting up the daily schedule. “Nothing is to be disturbed, opened or moved.” The unfortunate Rehma ignored the directive and, according to Yvonne’s assistant Eleanor, was now moving stock at Tesco.

When Yvonne was twelve her mother rifled through her room. On an intellectual level she understood why her mother did it. Ever since Yvonne could talk, her parents had regarded her as some sort of oddity, a changeling, the mockingbird in the nest. She had been precociously verbal, neat to a fault and almost grim in her determination to accomplish her goals. Her easy-going parents, Walthamstow born and bred, had been amused and then bemused at this small person who was so very different from themselves. To her mother, the slight disarray in her lingerie drawer was merely the result of trying to discover the cipher that lived in their midst. To Yvonne, it was an invasion of epic proportion.

Cathalina, if for no other reason than to avoid a career stocking Tesco Value Kettles, knew her place and took care to honor her employer’s wishes. While Yvonne found the arrangement quite satisfactory, she never deleted the agency’s number from her speed dial.

Grabbing her Burberry and sliding the tidy stack of files from the hall table into her attaché, Yvonne carefully closed the door on her Terrace house and stepped into the waiting car.

It was Tuesday and all was right in her world.

 **9:00 a.m.**

As she swept through the doors of Canary Wharf, Eleanor was waiting with a list of appointments and obligations.

“The mail forwarded from Torchwood Two is waiting in your office and no, there is still no word,” she said, trailing one step behind Yvonne. “Your eleven o’clock has been moved to one p.m., and your three o’clock has been indefinitely postponed.”

Yvonne frowned.

“The Prime Minister is dealing with an internal crisis and asks for your forbearance. She has assured me that she will reschedule as soon as the situation has been resolved,” Eleanor explained in a rush, holding her breath until Yvonne’s brow cleared.

“Well, that’s all right then, isn’t it? We mustn’t keep the Prime Minister from important matters of State. Tell her that we are at her convenience.” Yvonne said, smiling at the nondescript receptionist as she glided past her desk and stepped into the waiting lift. “Tell R&D they can move up their presentation to three and have Hodgins arrange for his demonstration at eleven. And Eleanor?” Yvonne paused before pressing the button, “Make sure he understands this is his last opportunity to waste my time.”

Eleanor swallowed. “Yes ma’am.”

As Eleanor continued the morning update, the lift carried them swiftly to the upper floor where Yvonne’s office occupied the corner. The impressive view of both the Thames and London were distracting enough that the previous Director had commissioned heavy, olive colored velvet curtains to cover the expanse. Yvonne had them torn down in the first thirty minutes of her tenure. Before she left in the evenings, she would often stand looking down at the twinkling lights of the city and imagine all the ordinary people going about the ordinary business of their ordinary lives. She felt a wave of maternal protectiveness for the small little dots that moved and scurried along, oblivious to the reality above their heads. If she did her job properly, they never would know. Keeping them safe was the most important thing, worth any sacrifice. But this morning she shut the blinds against the light and instead focused on her morning tasks.

“Now,” Yvonne said, placing the attaché case on the desk and opening it with a snap, “Duty calls, and I’m in desperate need for a cup of tea. Be a good girl and bring me one in along with the overnight readings.”

“Miss Hartman,” Eleanor said nervously. “There’s one more thing. Your mother is in Conference Room Three.”

Yvonne’s hands paused imperceptibly before pulling the files from the case. “My mother? Really,” she said in a mild tone. “How, may I ask, did she get to this floor?”

Eleanor unconsciously worried the edge of the file in her hands. “We had a temporary receptionist on overnight duty and she let her up. The receptionist has already been reprimanded and moved back to the data entry pool…”

At Yvonne’s inquiring look Eleanor continued.

“…from where she will be immediately dismissed.”

Sorting through the mail on her desk Yvonne casually asked, “How long has she been here?”

“The receptionist?”

Yvonne pinned the woman with a look. “No, Eleanor, my mother. How long has my mother been here?”

“About an hour. I was notified immediately that she was on the floor, so I put her in the conference room and made her comfortable with a cup of tea. I sat with her until you arrived so she hasn’t been alone in the building for very long. I don’t think the security breach is that serious.”

Yvonne slid a pile of mail into the bin and returned her attention to Eleanor.

“Thank you, Eleanor, I appreciate your solicitations toward my mother.”

Eleanor smiled in relief. “Oh, it was no problem Miss Hartman. She really is a delightful woman, and she’s so very proud of you! Full of stories and tales, she was very pleasant to talk to.”

Underneath the desk, Yvonne clenched her fingers, the smile never leaving her face. “Please tell my mother I’ll be in in just a moment. Now, about that cup of tea?”

 **9:50 a.m.**

Closing the door softly on the conference room, Yvonne returned to her office. Drawing open the blinds, she stood for a moment, letting the feeling of certainty and rightness settle once again in her bones as she took in the flurry of activity hundreds of feet below her. This was where she was meant to be; she knew that with an unwavering faith. She would do her duty, regardless of the cost. Pushing the vision of her mother’s eager face from her mind, she consoled herself with the knowledge that Retcon had been put through rigorous testing and used with outstanding success for months. She’d visit her parents this weekend, or the next. Even if they had nothing in common, there was a certain duty in being an only child, a daughter. She pushed the button on her desk and summoned Eleanor.

“Could you please escort my mother down to the lobby and have a car come around? I’m afraid she’s feeling a bit done up at the moment. I’d appreciate it if you’d see her home.”

 **11:30 a.m.**

Yvonne swiftly dealt with the crises that made up her morning, not the least of which was watching Hodgins stumble through another presentation of a project she had pegged as a failure since it was initiated. Her reluctance in funding his latest venture had spurred the researcher onto ever more desperate measures to prove his worth. They both knew that his cutting remarks as to her scientific knowledge and dubious qualifications, although uttered over a dozen years ago, had not been forgotten. It gave her a sense of grim satisfaction, and more than a little frisson of schadenfreude, to watch the realization blossom in his eyes that the project, and his career, were over.

 **1:15 p.m.**

Although she typically worked through the noon hour, lunch today consisted of a small yet brilliant salad at La Caprice where she was courted by the head of a pharmaceutical company eager to develop a relationship. Swimming anonymously through the sea of commerce, only the savviest business moguls realized that Yvonne was the lynchpin of a few carefully selected and lucrative projects. After determining that Sir Anthony Phillips possessed the necessary discretion to do business with Torchwood, bolstered by the knowledge that photos of a very naked Sir Anthony Phillips gamboling at a private estate in Ibiza with his very, very young mistress resided in the locked drawer of her desk, Yvonne relaxed and ate her salad with an unconscious precision.

 **2:30 p.m.**

Returning to the office in a jubilant mood, she signed the few letters that had been slipped onto her desk by the secretary and scanned the updated project files brought in by Eleanor.

“Tell Frank to ease up a bit on the Delmont deadline. I think he’s being a bit too aggressive and, for a change, we have the extra time.”

Eleanor scribbled the instructions as Yvonne continued without missing a beat.

“I’d like to see the budget reports for Hodgins’ division one more time and set up a meeting with Cooper. I think he might be ready to step into a leadership role. Lord knows he couldn’t do any worse than the old goat.”

She moved through the files rapidly.

“The latest reports on the anomaly look promising, but I think we need to expand the research. Ask Parker and Felix to meet with me in Module Seventeen at ten a.m. tomorrow, and for god’s sake order pastries. Parker is miserable unless he’s had a bit of breakfast. If the Prime Minister hasn’t made herself available, please contact UNIT and chat with Major General Wright’s liaison. We don’t have any more time to waste fiddling around with protocol. Did my mother arrive home?

Startled at the segue, Eleanor stumbled, “I… Yes, Miss Hartman. I saw her home myself. She seemed a bit tired but otherwise fine.”

“I’ll have to check in on her later this evening,” Yvonne said, smiling at the younger woman.

“I’m sure she’d be pleased, she said she was so happy to have spent time with you today,” Eleanor replied. “And very grateful for the ride home, she really didn’t want to make a fuss.”

“Yes, that sounds just like Mother. I think that’s all for now. Thank you, Eleanor.”

Gathering the files into a neat pile, Eleanor turned to leave.

“One more thing if you could,” Yvonne said, halting the woman’s progress. “Please ask Jenkins from personnel to come to my office at five. I have a bit of a staffing issue I need to address. That means I’ll need the end of day reports at four today, if that’s not a problem.”

“Of course not, Miss Hartman, I’ll make the arrangements.”

 **3:55 p.m.**

It was Yvonne’s custom to have a cup of tea as she skimmed the end of day reports. Even though she had requested the documents an hour earlier today, Eleanor headed to the staff kitchen as per usual to make up the tray. She was brought up short by the sight of Yvonne preparing the tea.

“Oh, Eleanor, don’t fuss,” Yvonne said as the Eleanor sputtered her apologies. “It’s been a long day, and I thought this afternoon you could join me. I’ve already set you out a cup, now be a dear and open the door.”

Setting the tray down on her desk, Yvonne poured the tea and handed Eleanor the delicate china cup. The smoky scent of the Lapsang Souchon that Yvonne favored filled the office. Yvonne watched with a slight smile as Eleanor sipped the tea, making a small, appreciative sound.

“This is delicious.”

“Of course it is,” Yvonne said. “I have it specially blended.”

 **6:15 p.m.**

Yvonne stepped through the door of her terrace home, gathering the mail from the hall table in one hand. She carefully removed her shoes and carried them into the bedroom. Placing the Italian pumps in their designated spot, to the left of the tall boots and to the right of the evening shoes in her dressing room she smiled at their gleaming order. At her dressing table she removed her jewelry, piece by piece, slipping each item into its designated pouch. Her eye caught her reflection in the mirror, and she paused for a moment, studying her face. Tiny lines were beginning to show around the eyes. Her wildly curly hair, wrestled into sleek submission every morning, was peppered with just enough grey that it could no longer be passed off as highlights. For a moment she saw the fresh-faced girl she had been when she first stepped through the doors of Torchwood.

Shaking off her reverie, she slipped out of her suit and belted a cashmere robe tightly around her waist before heading down to the kitchen to the dinner Cathalina left in the warming oven. Tomorrow was another day. Progress was being made on the anomaly; there were reports on a new recovery that could prove to be most interesting and, not least of all, a new assistant to break in.

It was Tuesday, and all was right in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published 1/5/08


End file.
